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Archive for the ‘Hidden Messages’ Category

Robin’s Egg Blue

February 15, 2008 3 comments

Thigh to thigh on the slip-covered couch,
your legs scissored closed like the ladder

I trespassed through the neighbor’s yard
before detention dismissed you later home.

Robin’s call two days absent from the clotted
roof gutter nest. I wanted to see how another life

begins. The TV hisses between channels.
Your faded Levis I’d soon fill out myself.

Cool corrugated grip of the tallest rung turning
awkward as a zipper’s deliberate downward cleaving.

Two pale blue eggs: the heavy leaf-litter must
of something abandoned. I wanted to be shown

what my body would become. Such slight
pressure, this fingernail digging in. The first egg

gives easily, thumb shattering through.
Should I say you taught me this? To take you

in my mouth and let you grow there? How
suddenly an afternoon changes light. Your knee

floors hard against belt buckle. The second egg
opens across the driveway’s gritty tongue.

I see your skin has broken — a crescent impression
welling the blood-purple half-circle of some poor

embryo, only three exposed heartbeats remain.
The TV focuses its dimming pinpoint eye

as we empty the living room. Between two
fragile halves: that slick amber yolk relaxing

outward, darkening the sparkling gravel.

by Brent Goodman

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Public Transport

February 14, 2008 5 comments

There’s no one around, the center sere,
dry as the moon. No one comes near
the still terminal. Buses dispatched
like the sun overnight, doors unlatched,

sit smelling of vomit and beer. Where are
the drunks, neighborhood newstands, far
smoke from the rendering plant? My eye
from a window that never was lends the dry

look of circumstance, something like form,
then takes it back. Sunday, normal,
not sinister. Pigeons unpattern the clouds
with a wash of gray. Trains reroute,
flash like the first things alive.
In the rain, the Daily News arrives.

by Robbi Nester

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Survey

February 13, 2008 Comments off

18th Street Omens

February 12, 2008 4 comments

heavy sidewalk traffic
barely an open seat in Tryst

we sit and watch women squeeze
through the crowded bar, wincing at
the slow tremor of tectonic behinds

some of us have been
in solitude long enough
to know it’s a desert
where every woman so far
has been a mirage

this morning’s horoscope
said good news of a long-
awaited event will arrive soon

I look for omens everywhere
and wonder if the watermark
under my glass is a sign
of an approaching oasis

by Alan King

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V. Freeport

February 11, 2008 3 comments

from “Scenes from a Westbound Train”

I thought he was her father, but
the way she pulled his hand,

heavy, limp and awkward, like a
dead koi from the black pond

of his lap; the way he couldn’t
look at her until he’d unhinged

the clasp of her watch and turned
the ticking face into her wrist;

the way they knit their brows,
concentrating on the other’s knees

in lieu of playing witness to their
teenage neighbors’ frisky schemes,

told me they were something sadder.

by D.S. Apfelbaum

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Sequence #5

February 10, 2008 2 comments

hold out for any pair of sockets ….. beach grass has sharp blades for ladders …. remember the plankton ……. it glittered in the sway …… come up to my hip …. cross over …. I never beg …….. except during sex …….. that was so long ago .. I’ve forgotten …… your sequential thumbnails ….. why are we restless insects understand their motives ………… the medulla organizes brittle flashes .. you continue to break into my kitchen .. I leave the lights on all night …….. you won’t stop .. I’ll have to bait a trap …. drive you to the outskirts ……. catch and release

by Beth Coyote

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Telephone Pole 17

February 9, 2008 6 comments